The Delightfully Divine Miss Bennett
by Joannaroo
Summary: British post grad Lizzie Bennett begins her first semester at Southern University as a divinity student - a series of less-than-divine challenges ensue, not the least of which include Darcy, her dastardly yet devilishly handsome neighbor.


_Welcome! As a "newbie" to Fanfiction, I must first begin with a disclaimer. This story was inspired, of course, by brilliant Jane Austin and her beloved characters. Although this is a modern take, you will see some of the original plot intermingled within this story. Anything you see that belongs to Miss Austin is clearly not mine. I hope you will enjoy, and I look forward to your thoughts! * "Southern University" is my own creation, and does not refer to the university in New Orleans with the same name; rather, just read it as a top-ten, private, liberal arts institution in the mid-South. *_

1. In the Beginning

The first thing Elizabeth Bennett saw as she looked out the tinted window of the black Mercedes was a herd of cows. Lots and lots of cows.

Oh. Holy. Jesus.

She needed to tell Charles that there had been some mistake, that she had forgotten something at the airport. The plane, to be exact. She needed to get back before it took off again for England, without her.

She should have listened to her mother. Stupid fool. Stupid, stupid fool.

She should have followed in her father's footsteps: Philosophy at Cambridge. Postgrad at Oxford.

No, no, little Lizzie just _had_ to go off to the University of Nottingham, like Jane had. It was a sensible decision, really. Cheaper tuition. A flat with her elder sister. Really, a very sensible decision.

But Oxford didn't think that her history degree was good enough to render her worthy of further study in their hallowed halls. Her mother had been delighted, naturally, and assumed that Lizzie would move back home, as Jane had. She had even taken the liberty of "calling round" all of their family friends that had even a thimbleful of quality (…or steady employment, whichever came first!) There was that damn recession going on, Lizzie's mother had said after a couple glasses of wine one night to Lizzie's father, a sensible man with no delusions of grandeur nor expectations of peace (…he had married her mother, hadn't he?)

And Mr. Bennett had told Lizzie in no uncertain terms that he would never forgive her if she did not take the opportunity which God had set before her.

She rolled her eyes, reevaluating the notion that her going had had _anything_ to do with God. No, it was her second cousin, twice removed. William Collins. Not Tom Collins, the drink…no, no - William-Collins-the-future-cleric-William-Collins. And that was how he spoke. Just like that.

But William Collins had grander aspirations than Oxford and Cambridge (…which Mr. Bennett said was code for "not accepted into either institution"-) and had proudly proposed a toast to himself at one of their family gatherings over the previous summer, proudly stating his intention to begin Divinity School at Southern University (…that's in America, he qualified).

And Lizzie feigned polite amusement and Jane shook her head enthusiastically at his news. Bravo, Cousin Will, kind Jane said with her sugary sweet smile.

Gah, Jane…Jane with her beauty. Jane with her personality. Jane with her size 25 waist. Jane with her 36 inch chest. Jane with her never-touched-by-dye but still miraculously flaxen waist length hair.

If Jane had been vain, it might have been intolerable. But she was anything but.

Lizzie ran one hand through her own hair, pixie short for the summer and a burnished brown, (…on a good day…most days it was the color of crap…literally.)

It wasn't really that she was lacking in beauty, or that she resented her sister's more conventionally desired features. No, she was happy in herself. She scored higher than Jane on standardized tests, that was something. She had won a sack race when they were four…

Gah, Jane. She would miss her well meaning sister…although, she had to admit, it would be nice to have a break from the never ending tirade of estrogen in the Bennett household. Her poor father, for having to deal with it.

Five girls, and all still living at home. Jane, naturally, because no one wanted to see her go. Lydia and Kitty. Lydia-and-Kitty as though they were one person. Both boy crazy and equally engrossed in their respective career paths as Lizzie was in hers (…theirs being Footballers Wives junkies and town whores, respectively.) And then there was Mary, shy and bookish but not in the cool, supplicated manner of some shy, bookish kids. Mary was just strange, and spent a lot of time in her room on the computer, doing God-knows-what.

Yes, leaving, even if it was to Nowheresville, U.S.A., would be preferable to remaining in Meryton for the rest of her life.

The Monday before, Jane had let herself into Lizzie's room to help her pack up her belongings. Her mother was too distraught to help, although she pretended to be anything but, packing up Kitty and Lydia and taking them to London to drown away their sorrows in retail therapy. And that had been just fine with Lizzie. Just fine indeed.

Not that Lizzie couldn't understand her mother. No, no, she understood fine. The last thing that a provincial, home grown old girl like Mum would expect from her second-to-oldest daughter three weeks after she returned from four years away at Uni was for that same daughter to want to pack up and jet off to another country with no warning whatsoever.

The night before Lizzie had left, her mother had sit up straight in her chair and looked seized by a fit. Her dad had been ready to call the medics, but Mum had let out a mighty yell of: I knew it-I knew it-I have-to call-Abigail-right now!

"What?" they had all begged to be let in on her (…no doubt) divine revelation.

"Lizzie is in love with Willie!"

Oh. My. God.

"Mother. No."

"Yes, yes, yes! Oh Lizzie, sweet girl! Clever girl! I like Willie, you know, I have always liked him! Oh good Heavens, Mr. Bennett, get some wine so that we can celebrate! And hurry up and come home so that we can have a wedding! Wedding! Wedding! _Wedding!_"

Jane looked sympathetic, her father, disturbed, her younger sisters, all snickering. Lizzie wanted to die.

"Mum, I promise on a stack of bibles that it's not Willie she fancies," Jane said helpfully, but with a good deal of trepidation in her voice.

"Don't try to deny it, Lizzie. It's written all over your face."

She had left the room, her younger sisters' catcalls behind her.

Later, Jane had shown up in her bedroom with the consolatory news that her boyfriend, Charles Bingley, had accepted a fellowship at Southern University Hospital (…wasn't that terrific?) and that she would fly over to visit, "at least once, before Christmas."

She didn't have to wait until Christmas to see Charles; far from it. He was waiting for her at the airport, along with a friend of his, Fitzwilliam Darcy (…at least, she assumed that it was Darcy, the best friend that Jane swore backwards and forwards was single and gorgeous!) She didn't know if he was single; but he was gorgeous, if not particularly loquacious.

Charles gave her a big hug and a kiss on the cheek the minute she got off the escalator in baggage claim. He was a good looking guy in his late twenties, perpetually clad in the latest fashion from the Burberry catalogue. (…If she didn't know from Jane's own mouth that he liked women, she would have dismissed him as a total pouf…then again, Jane had said that they hadn't yet done "the deed"!)

"This is Darcy," Charles confirmed. "I'm sure that Jane has sung his praises already."

Lizzie smiled, thinking that maybe her sudden move to the Land of the Free and Home of the Brave hadn't been a completely tragic lapse of judgment. "Yes, of course."

She couldn't read Darcy's eyes to see if he was pleased by the introduction or not - hidden as they were behind the Armani sunglasses.

Charles was beaming, "Lizzie is starting Divinity School at Southern, Darcy. Darcy here is a dreadful bore; he's still living in the grad student housing on campus."

"So am I -" Lizzie began.

"Yes, but unlike you, I am attending _law _school," Darcy said softly, his rear end resting against one of the "Welcome Y'all!" sign. Aha, law school; as if law school was synonymous with God school. No wait; Lizzie thought to herself in mad ironic stupor - I'm in God school.

She smarted. "Well, I'm taking an MTS degree. Not mDiv. No ordination track for me."

He lifted a dark brow. "Ah. Yours is even less rigorous then."

There was nothing more that she could say in response to the blatant insult. So he thought her stupid, her degree stupid…everything about her was absolutely ridiculous to him.

Well, she thought that his Nike-themed workout ensemble was overkill; he should seriously rethink the little patch of hair growing underneath his chin; and he really was wearing his shirt one size too small - really, what barrister needed biceps that size?

She hated him; she knew that much. And she would extend that hatred to law students in general. Even to Charles, on some level, for being the blighter's friend.

"Ahem. Lizzie? Shall we go?"

They were both looking at her expectantly.

With a quick glower in Darcy's direction, she tailed Charles and her luggage out to the parking garage.

"There it is!" Charles said delightedly at the beep-beep sound coming from his Mercedes when he pushed the key fob. Solicitously, he placed her in the backseat and her three bags in the trunk, then hopped into the front seat beside his friend.

He peeled out so fast that the people on the walkways panicked, their lives no doubt flashing before them, (…Lizzie's was, certainly!) and Darcy muttered: "I wish you'd learn to drive."

Well she seconded that motion. When he finally exited off the freeway and said that they were a few miles from Southern, she took a peek out the window.

Cows. A whole damn herd of cows.

And she had been truly convinced that her day couldn't get any worse.

She dug her phone out of the front pocket of her jeans, thinking that she needed to text Jane, and right away, before Charles made any more small talk…because she seriously might lose it if she had to endure it any further.

Luckily, Jane did reply to her text (…vent, in actuality) and said that yes, Darcy really was a louse on a good day, total scumbag on a bad - and then she made Lizzie feel a little better by reminding her that according to Google, there was a total of nineteen bars within walking distance of the grad student housing.

That was definitely something to be grateful for.

About fifteen minutes had passed before Charles announced that he had forgotten to fill up the car before they left for the airport, that Darcy had forgotten to remind him, that gas was close to four dollars a gallon (…nearly eight pounds, imagine!) and would she mind terribly…

She shook her head and said that it might be nice to run into the mini mart to the loo while he filled up. It was hot, she thought as she opened the car door and went to the trunk to retrieve her purse. She was going to need to buy some more shorts, sundresses, and the like…

Charles was leaning his head into the open window on the passenger side, whispering to Darcy.

Good for him, she thought - maybe he's putting him in his place.

Then she heard Darcy's reply to whatever Charles had said.

"She's an undersexed, overeducated feminist without an original thought in her head but an ego that reaches the sky and a hot sister. Who is, regrettably, taken."

Oh. My. God.

How could he in this life or the next be qualified to make such a judgment?

How dare he say anything of the sort when he had _no_ idea who she was or what she did, or intended to do, for that matter. Yes, she was a feminist. She was a well-educated, well-read intellectual's well-educated, well-read daughter. Yes she was a little…inexperienced. But hell, so was Jane, and Jane was the "hot" sister.

She hated Darcy. Hated him.

And that was when it hit her: he was going to be her neighbor, eh? Well, why get mad…when she could simply get even?


End file.
